


Dreamlights and Flashpaper

by scaldedcoffee



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cat adoption, Fever Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Joker (DCU) Whump, M/M, Other, POV Alternating, POV Joker (DCU), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Trans Joker (DCU), Unreliable Narrator, unreality, with batjokes sprinkles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaldedcoffee/pseuds/scaldedcoffee
Summary: There is something wrong.There is something wrong with The Joker.(Well, more wrong than usual).However, he doesnt know it yet. And neither does Batman.An intro.A mystery.Alternatively, one of the few times Joker is ever affected by anything.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	1. Something Is Terribly Wrong, or, Into the Spin

**Author's Note:**

> Tw this chap: violence, unreality,

Joker strolled down the dark city street unnoticed. He was amused at this unusual occurence, because normally he was someone that most people saw right away, then proceeded to scream and run away from. It was kind of nice to just be one of the crowd. Albeit, a very small crowd that was mostly rushing away to get out of the pouring rain. It had been a very hot day, the cool rain causing fog to rise off the asphalt, giving everything a dreamy look. The streetlights were sparse in this part of the city, only serving to add to the atmosphere. He noticed a small person hunkered in an alleyway, and ducked in himself. It shielded them from the rain a little bit. Not that he cared, and wasn't soaked already. He could hear faint shouting somewhere and the distance, and what he thought was either a baby crying, or maybe a cat. Maybe the cat was stuck outside in the rain. He grinned to himself.   
"What are you so happy about?" a voice asked.   
He looked down, peering at the person, then crouched lower to them. "Well," he began with a chuckle, "if we're asking each other questions, why are you sitting out here?"  
"To catch you." They replied, much to his confusion. A face he couldn't make out looked up at him with piercing, eerily shining blue eyes and he felt something rip into the back of his head suddenly - a batarang? He felt himself stumble forward... And then he woke up.

Well. This was…. new and different. His whole body was sore, and his head ached intensely. And what a positively odd dream. He was still also pretty soaked from the rain. Which was real and still raining, by the sound of it. He shivered involuntarily as he looked around him. A siren went by outside, very close, and he winced slightly, the sound cutting into his head almost as bad as the batarang from his dream. He figured he must still be in the Narrows somewhere, judging by the peeling paint on the walls, the abandoned looking chair in the corner, the warped, rotting flooring, and the small, scrawny cat hiding in the corner looking at him. Wait. The cat? 

"One of these things is not like the other," he murmured. Then held out a hand, calling to the animal.   
It stuck its head out slightly, sniffing the air. As he held his hand there, curiosity fading quickly, he noticed his hand was trembling. He wondered why for a moment until it suddenly occurred to him that he was actually still shivering. Weird. He dismissed it, figuring it was the cold, wet clothes he'd been inadvertently sleeping in underneath a glassless window.   
Now to figure out why that was the case. He stood, then immediately grabbed for the window frame as the room swirled violently around him.

"Oh-kay," he chuckled in reaction. Kind of fun, but also kind of not-normal. He wasn't terribly sure, considering "normal" is a bit of a social construct in his opinion anyways, but perhaps it was worth it to examine it a bit more closely anyways. He thought for a moment as he waited for the room to return to normal.

Had he been drugged? Was he sick? Was this room secretly on top of one of those spinning rides at a carnival? Was he in that movie about dreams within dreams and this was still a dream? Probably one of the first two.  
He tentatively took a step forward, both because the floor didn't look terribly sturdy and because he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't just fall on his face if he wasn't careful. Thank God it was just him and that cat in here. The floor creaked, but held fine, and he slowly walked into the building, figuring he should attempt to dry off somehow. 

The house seemed utterly abandoned, the only things left, other than the cat, so far, as he made his way to what looked like a kitchen in the dark, were a rickety chair, a few cans of almost-expired Spam in a cupboard he discovered, and a large black shirt thrown in the corner.  
He picked up the shirt, seeing it had a simple yellow smiley face on it. "How fitting."

He usually wasn't one to wear random discarded clothing but at least it was more dry than his coat and shirt he had on now. It didn't smell like anyone died in it either, so what the hell. Besides, it was like someone had practically left it here for him considering it had a smiley face on it, of all things! As he peeled off his damp undershirt, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head again like he had in the dream. He'd have to investigate that in a moment. He felt the area and realized there was indeed a wound, crusting blood flaking off onto his gloved hand, but first he was more concerned about some warmth and food so he could start off back to his hideout.

A loud peal of thunder answered his question of whether he could do that now without getting re-soaked right away. No matter, soon enough he'd be back to civilization. Well, as civilized as a different abandoned building could be. But his was warmer, decorated, and had his stuff. (And didn't feel like he was in danger of falling through the floors.)

He dusted off the counter with his hand and and spread out his suit jacket and shirt on it after he'd put on the "new" one. Still colder than he'd liked to admit, he decided he could do with some heat, and went to get the chair from the room he'd started in.   
He broke it apart with ease, old and cheap wood splintering easily. Thankfully it was dry, he thought distantly, as he whittled some of the wood off with one of his knives to make kindling. 

What could have happened that he still had his clothes, his knives and things in all their pockets... and some kind of gash in the back of his head? And no memory of how he'd gotten there? World's Greatest Detective he wasn't, but that just didn't seem to add up. 

He started the kindling and few small-pieces-of chair burning and hoped the kitchen floor wasn't tiled with some cheap material that would burn easily or give off noxious fumes. He chuckled slightly at the thought as he opened one of the cans of Spam, sticking it into the flames to heat it up. The little fire created enough warmth that at least he wasn't shivering anymore. 

"Still better than the food at Arkham," he mused, as the smell of the warm mystery meat wafted towards him. His stomach growled, and he wondered when he'd last eaten.

He remembered being at the hideout, ready for a little fracas with the Bat. He'd eaten that day, then gone out to get a few last minute supplies for their party... and then nothing. Just blank. Not that that was abnormal for him, his memory tended to have a few holes now and then, but thus was still fishy.

Ah, well, he'd figure that out in a little bit. He dug a different knife from his coat and tried a bite of his now warm Spam after having pulled the can from the fire. It was... edible enough, he supposed. And well, he was hungry... He blew on and went to eat a second bite when a small meow sounded near his elbow.

"You must be hungry too," he laughed, "So now you come near me?"

He waved the can of Spam as he spoke, and the thin creature followed it with its eyes. He realized with glee that the little cat was black, with blue eyes. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a cat with blue eyes. Green or yellow, sure, but not blue. He had the perfect name.

"C'mere, Batsy..." he drawled, placing a bit of the Spam onto the floor.

He watched his new little friend hurriedly scarf it down and decided he could part with a little more. After all, it wasn't like he wouldn't be back at the hideout soon anyways. Where there were better things to eat. He hoped. For all he knew he'd been gone for a week or more and mostly everything was rotten, now. He scooted a bit closer to the fire and warmed his hands.

He sat up suddenly, his head having drifted down to his chest while he sat, and realized he must have fallen asleep for a bit because "Batsy" was now trying to lick the inside of the can, and his little fire was mostly dying embers. 

Rain still poured outside and he resigned himself to stretching out on the floor. He didn't understand how he could still be tired but figured at least he could go as soon as it stopped raining.

He woke up to it still being dark outside, and Batsy curled up beside him. He grinned slightly, glad the little thing liked him more than its namesake, especially because despite being tiny it was also nice and warm. He grinned even wider when he realized he finally couldn't hear any more damn rain. Normally he liked it when it rained but he figured he shouldn't really just run right back into it unless he wanted to make himself more sick. He'd decided that must be his problem, or part of it anyways. He never slept this much.  
Sitting up, then standing slowly this time, he chuckled as Batsy walked around his feet making little mewling noises at him. 

"No more Spam, Bats, we've got places to be," he bent down and petted the cat gently. It froze at first but then arched its back as he stroked its fur, and Joker could feel the vibrations of its purring through his glove. He put his shirt and jacket back on, then picked up his little cat-bat and set off into the Gotham night, glad to be free of his sad little makeshift campsite.

He still felt vaguely terrible, but pushed away in pursuit of getting back to the hideout, figuring out what the hell had happened, and then rescheduling his meeting with the real Batsy as soon as possible. 

At last he reached the hideout, and set Batsy 2.0 down inside. Confused, he looked down at the cat when he heard a decidedly non-catlike noise, as though it were a robot whose battery had just run low on charge mid-meow... and watched as the cat decomposed in front of him and fell to the floor as a pile of blacked rotten flesh. Flies rose instantly from the pile, and Joker woke up again.

"What in the absolute hell," he said aloud, as he looked around. It had been a dream. Again. He was still in the stupid little shack in the middle of the Narrows. Next to his stupid little fire. But thankfully there was still a little black cat curled up next to him. "No more mystery meats before bed, I guess..."

He chucked at the sheer weirdness, and poked the little creature, who opened its eyes just enough to look at him. Good. He pinched his forearm, which stung a little. Also good.

"What is the matter with me lately?" he mused sardonically to the cat. "No, no besides that," he rolled his eyes in mock indignation. 

"Okay," he sighed as he got up, slowly, dizziness making the room tilt slightly.   
"Let's try this again." He scritched the cat for real this time, put on his coat, then grabbed the newly dubbed Bat-Feline and headed for the door. For real. (He was pretty sure, anyways.)

As he opened the door he noted that it wasn't raining anymore outside of Dreamland either. Perhaps he should take up prophetic dreaming as a side hobby.

As he strode down the sidewalk as quickly as his dreadfully aching body was allowing, he racked his brain for any more memories.

"So help me, if this is another dream, bitty Bat." He sighed.


	2. CH 2 - The Scent of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce investigates wtf is going on.
> 
> Angstily, and in a manner that I would lovingly call, "tfw you are trying to control your panic response except your entire life keeps triggering it constantly please just let me rest".
> 
> So tw for panic, anxiety, and descriptions of like anxious and hypervigilant thought processes (btw if i leave smth out or youd like smth tagged please lmk) 
> 
> #ptsd #traumatized #anxiety #thoughtspirals #hypervigilance #guilt

CH 2

The sharp and jagged sliver of Bruce Wayne's heart that he was still letting himself feel was raggedly performing anxious palpitations as he prepared for a sudden patrol. 

He had been planning for it later on that night but the call he had just overheard couldn't wait. He hoped beyond hope it was just a false alarm. Some desperate idiot. Anything but what he worst feared.

He had been working through updating and maintaining some older case files when the alert lit up. In a city as big and dangerous as Gotham, he couldn't begin to respond to or even screen each and every call personally, so the system was set up to alert to key words or locations and alert him automatically. He connected to the emergency call alert blazing across the screen. The audio system crackled slightly  
.

"Ma'am," the tired voice of the operator echoed into the cave "please repeat that. You saw what?" 

"I saw the fucking Joker!" the caller frantically spat back in a hushed tone, their voice cracking. Like they're hiding. Bruce concluded grimly. 

That was the top key-word. “Joker”. While this was just as likely to be a false lead as a real one, Bruce believed it to be a worthwhile pursuit nonetheless. He would rather investigate hundreds of false leads than miss one real one when it came to the notorious clown. In this city, what looked like a posh art installment or a forgotten children's toy was statistically so much more likely to be deadly, it was anomalous. Perhaps in a different life, he might even call it so ridiculous to be funny. Right now, it was just devastatingly true. 

In Gotham, this was actually a somewhat controversial topic. Some institutions even went as far as banning things like purple clothing or green hair, or anything with images of the criminal. There had been a group petitioning for the ban of any and all clown-related memorabilia, but at that point, many argued, shouldn’t the city just ban question marks, scarecrows, or hell, plants, and snow? 

Bruce had immediately begun to prepare as though this were absolutely true, however, calls like this had several other explanations. Joker Toxin victims recovered in various states of normalcy if they were gassed by a non-lethal variety. It could be a civilian who resembled the clown… in Gotham, the rule of hoping for the best and preparing for the worst felt ludicrous. Worst/worst, maybe, on a good day. 

A newly gassed Joker toxin victim could be extremely dangerous, as some strains caused them to remain alert and aware, and frenzied the victim into a rage. 

However, especially at night, and with the rate of mental illness skyrocketing in the city, Bruce also couldn't rule out anything from a copy-cat to a goon, to a victim having an episode, to just someone trying to scare someone else, to pretty much anything in between. This could be the beginning of a large-scale attack from the Joker, or it could simply be a misled kid.

Bruce had listened just long enough to get the caller's coordinates and her description of what had happened, then disconnected, sending the audio to a standby mode in the Batmobile so he could listen as he drove to the location, disengaging from his urge to think of any more possibilities until he got closer to the scene. 

The safety autopilot of the car was engaged, so he couldn’t actually go over a certain speed, but his boot was dangerously nearing the floor as he pressed it against the pedal. Not so focused as to ignore his surroundings, but focused enough that when he finally noticed how tight he had been gripping the wheel partway through the drive, his hands ached in protest. Not that this was abnormal, though. He had described it once to Alfred as feeling “like a tightly coiled spring”. The soft warm pity in the butler’s eyes felt like an icy dagger impaling him as the older man suggested that perhaps there were ways for him to not feel like that. He had quickly backtracked, passing it off, moving on, and never looking back like wasn’t a symptom of something deeply wrong. 

In the car, he took a deep steadying breath, reminding himself that regardless of the outcome, panic would do nothing. Face the fear, and do it anyways. As the destination reminder pinged a tone to tell him the location was nearby, he slowed the car slightly, flipping a few settings on the dash accordingly. The car slipped into a stealth mode, engine quieting and the whole vehicle becoming not quite, but close to, invisible in the dark. He turned into the darker back alleys of the Narrows.

It had begun raining again, and the rain sliding down the windows of the car created a hypnotic reflection on Bruce’s face. He scanned the streets visually, glancing at screens to confirm other readings. Both the vehicle and cowl were equipped to help detect and alert him to abnormal heat signatures or other signs of things like traps, hidden people, weapons, volatile substances, or any other potentially dangerous situations.

He passed by the residence of the caller. The auto-reading indicated that the call had ended peacefully so he assumed it had most likely been a false result, and the readings showed the heat signatures of 3 healthy inhabitants sleeping in what looked like beds or couches from what he could tell. 

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He thought vaguely for a moment that maybe, for once, it actually was all ok, and he didn’t have to be so on edge. Maybe he could even get back early tonight and would finally watch that show Alfred had been bugging him to watch... “Great Baking Mistakes” or something? Sometimes watching media these days felt like he was dragging his brain through gravel, but usually, Alfred had good taste, and listening to him talk about cooking and baking anytime they watched anything with cooking was usu-- 

A fainter heat signature across the street and down a few houses caught his attention. He swiftly exited the car, its engines thrumming low. It locked down and went into standby mode. 

As he got closer he realized it appeared to be just a very small fire smoldering in the main room of one of the houses, seemingly abandoned. Probably squatters that heard his car pull up and ran, but he would check it out nonetheless, and of course make sure the fire was put out. 

He slid in the old thin doorway, which, as he expected was unlocked and had long ago picked, rusted, and abandoned to rot. The scent of moldy floorboards and musty carpet, and stale air, intermingled with the lingering smoke in the air.

A little fire had been started with what looked like cheap plyboard furniture or something similar, and mostly put out. The remains were still smoldering vehemently against the damp and drafty environment though. An empty “Spam“ tin discarded nearby. Seemed to be a pretty standard procedure if you could swing it when you had to stay on the streets, and he felt a twinge thinking about whoever was living like this on a cold rainy night.

He donated generously to charity via the Wayne Foundation, but still couldn’t help the nagging guilt that he could, should, do more, every time. He slid a mini care pac from his belt and put it into the Spam tin, setting it up right next to the fire for them to hopefully come back to, and sighed. It never felt like enough. Despite everything. But for him, for now, that was motivation enough to keep going because otherwise, he was afraid he might fall to his knees and never get back up again. Less than enough was better than nothing, right?

He was moving to explore the other rooms of the barren house when a chemical compound alert went off in the visor of the cowl. He immediately sent out the code to all communicators and the cave for “High Alert/Lockdown”, “Details to follow”, trying to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. He had recognized it immediately. It was the Joker’s blood. 

The Joker hadn’t been seen in over a year. This wasn’t uncommon for the clown, he would often disappear and reappear like a demented jack in the box. It made the whole thing feel all the more fruitless sometimes, he thought, even as he had to fight to unclench his jaw, entering details into the database rapidly. The fire, the blood. That was it. This was… somewhat bizarre, so far.

Since it seemed fairly obvious the Joker wasn’t here, he almost wanted to skip surveillance of the entire premises, but he couldn’t bring himself to break protocol, just in case. A quick sweep up the rooms later, and no more hits, he was swinging back into the car, accelerating down the street, all scanners on high alert. 

Thoughts were once again racing through his mind. A notification alerted him that Alfred was messaging, but anything less than an urgent or emergency communication was blocked in this mode on all systems right now. He needed full concentration if the Joker truly was in the area. Which was the only plausible explanation unless someone was transporting his blood or a derivative of some kind? Not impossible, it had happened before. In which case, any party willing and able to take on the clown had to also be pretty formidable to do so in the first place. So regardless he still stood by that setting as well. It was there for a reason.  
Bruce was utterly surprised when the chemical sensor pinged again while he was driving down the street. The chances that more blood was in reach of the car’s sensor would mean that it would have to be on the street or the sidewalk. The Joker had the infuriating habit of theatrically disappearing in grandiose stunts like falling down mine shafts or in front of trains in ways that would have killed anyone else. Somehow he would always be back though, seemingly fine. Cockroaches and that fucking clown might just be the only things to survive us all whenever the big one hits. 

The Joker was not one to just stroll down the street unnoticed. 911 calls would be coming in, even in the Narrows, at night, for him. And probably only him, Bruce thought. This was extremely likely to be some sort of set-up, is what he suspected. Preparing to leave the car again, he switched out utility belts to one specifically for dealing with the clown. When he had first put this together, it had seemed like overkill, even for him. 

Several long years, countless tragedies,... accidents,… and city-wide scars later, it definitely wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for any/all kudos & comments - i super appreciate feedback, but esp what you particularly liked!* I want to say up front that: this was originally started a long time ago (like 2017) and i only just recently continued it so i hope it isnt super disjointed/i do it justice. 
> 
> I will try to update the tags w tws (in a nutshell “everyones mental health is plummetting down the toilet”? Idk working title lol) as they come up and also that 
> 
> this is in part inspired by an old fanfic from like 2010 that isnt up anymore called “Agony” by wbss21, and countless other fics that i have read, (too many, canon & fandom are just a giant amalgam of gotham in my head honestly another one that sticks out that i am consciously referencing in some of my backstory/headcanons or interaction styles, etc is
> 
> “Made For The Journey” by Merixcil) so if youre like “hmm i think i read a fic like that once” i probably also read it like 10 years ago and absorbed it into my massive emotional support headcanon tbqh. Though i have tried to genuinely make the ideas my own and not plagiarize anyone, so I do hope that I didn’t just do the thing where Malcolm writes a song and realizes its the meow mix jingle (my one fear). 
> 
> But yeah if ur enjoying my particular brand of Bats and Joker I am glad, I feel like it is Kind of Niche but at this point in my life I dont care anymore. hope this is ok in comparison to ch 1 & Hope you are all staying safe and healthy. <3 #projectingontobrucewaynehours
> 
> *(I am open to constructive criticism tho tbh but i have genuinely just lurked in 99% of fandoms ive ever been in basically so please be gentle w it tho lol)

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a long time ago, and am continuing it now. Please comment if you enjoyed, I greatly appreciate feedback :)


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